The Unprettier Side
by wrestlefan4
Summary: You think you know Christian but you don't. If you want to, follow him from '98 to his return to ECW in '09, but I warn you--there is a side of things you haven't seen before. You might call it "The Unprettier Side".Brood,New Brood,MoD,others.WILLBESLASH
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I got a PM from ExtremeDiva18 saying that there are no good stories relating to The Brood and The Ministry. That got my brain going--so maybe I've come up with something. I'll let you all decide. The story revolved mainly around Christian but other Brood, New Brood, and Ministry players along with others will def be in this some more than others. So, here we go. If it's stupid let me know, I want constructive criticism so if it needs fixing or if anything seems out of place, please let me know. Thanks all!! Enjoy.  
**

* * *

Deceived by my eyes and all I was told I should see

Opinions not mine, the person they taught me to be

One night in the dark, a vision of someone I knew

And in the darkness I saw, a voice say, I'm you.

Inside me a light was turned on then I was alive.

If you close your eyes your life, a naked truth revealed

Dreams you never lived, and scars never healed

~-~

The Unprettier Side**  
**

Things may seem like they've changed, but for some the past still gripped them deeply, with tough talons. The biggest part of the darkness had long since washed away from most of those involved with those times but a couple still bared the scars inside and out. Some of them were treated better than others. Some of them were lied to, deceived, used, and abused. Some still curl up in bed at night and feel oddly empty, because now they knew they deserve the stripes they endured, but there is no one left to give it to them.

One of them is so far gone, that the only thing he can cling to anymore is the pain. Now it has become some sort of strange comfort, and he doesn't even know why. Sometimes when he can't sleep he moves his fingers over the raised scars, caressing them in the shadowy night. Sometimes he meets the skin with a glimmer of metal and retraces the marks put eternally onto the pale flesh, their unforgettable patterns, outlined in new ruby jewels.

Tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight he just lay staring up at the ceiling with wide, wondering, distant eyes as his heart thumped hard in his chest. He had thought that leaving the company that kept him surrounded by many of the same people involved would have proved to help him, with the state he was finding himself in, but it didn't. He had simply dragged all the baggage along with him to this new venue called TNA and even though on the outside things might have appeared well, that was all it was—an appearance. After all, it was his job to put on another character night after night, so it was no trouble to hide behind the façade of a happy man. The worn lines in his face might have given away some clue, or the fact that he didn't seem to smile very much, or that when he did it seemed forced, but if anyone ever noticed they never bothered to ask questions. For that he was glad, and for that reason he made it a habit to keep to himself.

But things had led him back to this place where those ghosts of his past walked around in real, live, human bodies. Actually, it was only one thing that set his feet back on this path, only one person. Matt Hardy. He and Matt were the only ones who truly understood each other. They were the only ones who had felt the darkness close in so deep around them and managed to survive it. They were the only ones who had ever remained loyal to one another when all others around them betrayed their trust with the metaphorical twist of the knife. But never, ever had they let each other fall. If one were to let the other go, the plunge downwards would just be too much to bear.

He shook his head, and his thoughts began to trace back over the story of his life. Really, it had only begun ten years ago. Ten years isn't that long, but to him, it seemed already like an eternity, an eternity that was riddled with darkness. So many alliances and bonds had been formed during that time, and likewise so many bitterly broken. Even now, though certain ties had been severed, he still felt the tugging of the broken strings. Even some which still held, seemed to soon be raveling away. He knew what he was doing now was wrong, and he knew that he would have to break, and tell Matt the truth sooner or later. Then, it would all come undone for good. He would be left alone again, the same way he felt when he started out. Perhaps that was how he should have stayed, but that wasn't what happened. That night, Jason Reso had been visited by an enchanting stranger, and his life had forever been placed onto a different path.

* * *

Adam Copeland and Jason Reso stood outside of the tall building, unbelieving that they were there, in Stamford, Connecticut. Adam held in his hand a letter, and his flashing blue eyes glanced over it again and again, as Jason tilted his face skywards to follow the high rise of the company before them. He took a wobbly step back, the view dizzying. Adam swatted his arm, and turned to him with a wide smile, snapping his gum.

"Come on." The taller blond said, striding confidently towards the glass doors that might lead the two young men to their dreamed of future.

Jason stood behind for a moment, watching the coolness of his brother. Everything about Adam oozed confidence, from his posture, to look in his eyes, to the way he spoke, or bobbled his head. All of it just came so natural to Adam. It was as if he didn't know there was an option for failure, and even if there was such a silly thing, it would never dare to touch him.

Jason on the other hand, was so anxious about this meeting. He tried to mimic his brothers air of certain successes but it only fell flat. His palms were still sweaty, his pulse still racing, his belly still writhing with worms of nerves. He was all too aware of his shortcomings, only ever magnified by being next to Adam who was charming, funny, outgoing, and not to mention, gorgeous. Jason wasn't jealous of Adam, it was just that he was the complete opposite. Jason was awkward, and shy, and Adam often joked with him that he had a face only their mother could love. He meant it only as brothers do, as good natured ribbing, but Jason knew it to be the truth when he looked in the mirror. Adam was the perfect one, and he was the average guy who would get passed on the street, and maybe shoved.

"Jay, what are you waiting for, your balls to drop? Come on!" Adam called for him with a laugh, and waved his arm.

With a shaky sigh Jason hurried towards the doors where his brother waited for him.

"Stop doing that, would you?" Adam hissed once they were inside. "You look nervous."

"I…I am." Jason answered, threading his fingers through his long blond hair and tugging at it.

"Stop it, you're knotting it up." Adam swatted Jason's hands out of the way, and with one hard yank tore the tangles out.

"Better not pull my hair." Jason smirked. "I might like it."

"Shut up, you're so creepy." Adam shook his head, and snapped his gum again.

The two of them went quiet again. After a silent elevator ride, they found themselves in a lobby, waiting to see the man who owned it all. Adam sank into one of the chairs, making himself comfortable. Jason instead paced the small area with his arms crossed over his chest. He was terrified to meet this man face to face. He had watched wrestling since he was a child, it was the only thing he had ever wanted to do, and now here he was with his brother and this was their chance—and what if they blew it. He felt so sick, what if he threw up all over McMahon's shoes? Oh god, hell no. Jason groaned and sank into a chair at the opposite side of the room.

"Take chill pill Jay." Adam sing-songed.

Jason looked up at him, glaring. Adam had no idea how it felt to be Jason. Adam had no idea how hard it was to live in his own shadow and still try to be seen. It was impossible not to see Adam, but Jason was often missed, or blatantly ignored.

"Mr. Copeland, Mr. Reso?"

The voice startled Jason, and he jumped up out of his chair. Adam moved over with his head held high, as though he had not a doubt in the world.

"I'm Copeland." He said, extending his hand before the man in front of them had even offered. "Adam Copeland."

"Fine, fine very good to meet you."

Jason watched as Vince McMahon Jr. took his brothers hand and shook it firmly. It took him a moment to realize that Vince had turned to him, and was holding his hand out.

"Um, oh…sorry." Jason fumbled over his words and scrubbed his palm against his pants, fearing that it was wet and clammy. His cheeks were burning red and when he reached for McMahon's hand all three of them saw the shakiness. Once Vince clasped his hand he was so shaken up that he forgot to grip back, and his handshake was like a limp fish. Embarrassed he stuffed it into his pocket as soon as Vince let go.

"So, then I take it you're Jason Reso?"

"Me?" Jason nearly squeaked. "Uh, yeah. That's me um, Jason Reso or-or y'know some people call me Gay. I-I mean Jay. Jay with a J...like eh…jelly."

Adam shook his head at his brother when McMahon turned to lead them to his office. Jason could barely make his feet move along with the other two. He felt like nothing more than crawling in a hole and staying there for the rest of his miserable life. His first impression to the fucking owner of the WWF was a lifeless-wet hand and the introduction of himself as Gay. This was not going well, to say the least.

The two of them were led into Vince's office, and Adam immediately sat down in one of the chairs in front of Vince's desk. Jason was surprised the cocky blond hadn't went all the way, and propped his feet up on the holy desk, but of course he hadn't. Vince took his seat in the tall leather chair behind the massive polished desk, and turned his gaze to Jason who was still standing and fidgeting with his fingers.

"Mr. Reso, have a seat please." Vince said slowly, as if talking to someone of lower intelligence.

He motioned towards the empty chair next to Adam. Jason just blinked stupidly, he was so fucking nervous that he couldn't even pay attention to whatever it was Vince had said. With a barely swallowed sigh of disgust, Adam grabbed Jason's wrist and yanked him down into the chair. Vince began to speak to them, and Adam met his gaze and held it each time Vince looked at him, while Jason tried, but blinked away feeling smaller and smaller each time the eyes landed on him. Adam answered all of his questions with the perfect responses, while Jason stuttered and fumbled with his. By the time their interview was over, Jason's head was pounding and he felt as if he was going to be sick. He didn't feel any better when Vince leaned over his desk and shook Adam's hand again, their clasped fists bobbing over one signed contract. He turned back to Jason, and assured him that there was just not a suitable position open for him at the moment, and that if one was to come up he would get a phone call.

Adam strode proudly out of the office, while Jason slinked defeated behind him, scuffling his toe against the carpet. The taller blond stopped at the elevator and turned, shaking his head as he watched his brother mope his way towards the opening doors.

"Look Jay, don't take it so hard. He said he'd call, you'll be with me on the roster in no time!" Adam clapped his brother on the back, but his words did nothing to take away the despairing look in Jason's downcast eyes.

"S'alright, Adam. I'm a realist. I knew both of us wouldn't be realizing our dreams today. In fact, I don't think any of mine were made to come true. They're only fantasy shadows that dissipate once I step into the real world. " The smaller blond swallowed hard, feeling ashamed for how stupid and incompetent he'd come off as.

Adam leaned against the wall of the elevator, snapped his gum, and rolled his eyes.

"Jay, don't talk that way. You heard McMahon, he said he'd call if another opening came up, and you know I'll spend all my spare time putting in good words for you. After all, he can't ignore this for long, can he?" Adam put on a dopey grin, and pointed to himself.

"Get away from me." Jason grumbled, quickly ducking through the opening doors of the elevator.

"Hey!" Adam called after him as he hurried towards the doors to exit the building. "It's not my fault you're a chump-stain!"

~-~

Jason opted to stay holed up in his hotel room as Adam went out that night to celebrate. In the morning, Adam would still be there nursing a hangover, and readying himself for his new life as that coveted icon—professional wrestler. Jason would be at the airport catching a flight back to Canada. He had made up his mind that if he didn't get signed with Adam, then he wouldn't wrestle anymore, not even on the indy circuits. So now his only option was to go home and find something else to do with his own life, some hum-drum, nothing job where no one would know his name or care to see his face.

It was a horrible feeling, because he and Adam had always been so close and now their lives were destined to take drastically different paths. Adam would be traveling all over the world, with little time to come home and tease his brother, who wanted nothing more than to be something like him, rather than like himself. Tears sat in Jason's eyes as he laid still and quiet in the middle of the lumpy bed that seemed to take up most of the small rented room. After a few moments of gazing at the ceiling through the salty blur, he angrily scrubbed the tears away, so hard that black and red dots danced in front of his vision when he was finished. He closed his eyes slowly, wondering if Adam would still remember him after he was a famous superstar.

The edges of sleep began to creep over him, ebbing in with their numbing tides, when something whispered into his ear made him startle awake. It was his name, so softly spoken against the ticklish lobe. He jerked up, sitting up and then falling over and almost off of the bed when he saw a figure standing at the side of his bed.

"Do not be afraid." The man stepped out of the shadows, and Jason saw a slant of moonlight catch in the man's curly blond hair, spill over his rounded face, and glimmer from the stud bolted through his wiggling tongue. The pale light caught again and shone from the twin ivory fangs that he scraped the piercing over.

"Wh-who…how did you…"

"My name is Gangrel. How I've come upon you is business of my own. You do not need to trouble yourself with such questions." His silky voice seemed to wash over the frightened young man, and set his shivering nerves to a strange, still calm. The man called Gangrel rested one knee on the bed, and motioned for Jason. "Come here."

Oddly enough, Jason found himself moving slowly to meet the man with the glittering, enchanting blue eyes. Jason situated himself in front of Gangrel, sitting back on his heels, and automatically bowing his head.

"Oh yes, perfect." Gangrel hissed, the words somehow conveying to Jason that this suddenly appearing specter was pleased with him. Gangrel reached for Jason's head, and rested his palm against the soft hair, then slowly drew his fingers through the golden strands. "Look at me." Gangrel instructed

Jason stayed still, agonizing between doing as he was told, or disobeying. For a reason he could not identify, he felt the need submit to this man and do as he said, but he didn't want Gangrel to see his face_--A face only our mother could love._ They were Adams words, meant as only a silly tease of course, but taken as a stinging barb which repeated through Jay's mind. He let out a long sigh, and hesitantly tilted his face upwards. The moment Jason met Gangrel's gaze, he immediately ducked his head again, but Gangrel gripped his chin only hard enough to steer it back to its prior position. Jason's eyes flickered here and there, anywhere but to Gangrel's. Fingers brushed against Jason's face, and made him shiver as the nimble tips moved a curtain of his long hair away from his face, fully revealing it.

"Beautiful." Gangrel breathed. "Why would you cry, when you are so beautiful?"

Jason blinked at Gangrel in astonishment, completely thrown by his words. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been crying, but now as he blinked he could easily feel the warm, crystal tears clinging to his lashes and drying on his cheeks. Secondly, this mysterious man had just called him…

"M-me?" Jason barely whispered the single word as a perplexed question.

"I see none other in the room with us." Gangrel said. He brought his face close to Jason's, and dragged the tip of his tongue over one of Jay's cheeks, cleaning away the path of his tears. "And I know you're confused, but worry not, I've found you. As for that phone call, you will receive it soon, I assure you of that. I've chosen you." Gangrel purred, moving towards Jason's lips, and hovering there.

"Me?" Jason repeated again, still unbelieving that this man with the wonderful, hypnotic eyes, had found something of worth in him.

"Stop avoiding my eyes, and look at me."

Jason complied, seeing nothing but truth and acceptance in the cobalt-gray depths. He knew that somehow, in this man he had been found. Of course, he didn't even know who he was, why he was here, or where he had come from, but none of those questions seemed important. None of them even seemed worthy of asking—so Jay stayed silent and just watched those eyes.

"You've accepted." Gangrel spoke, his lips parting into a pointed smile. He knew this without asking the young man before him, he could see it in his eyes and feel it through him.

"Yes I have…Sir." Jason added, feeling it proper to tack on the title of respect.

"Oh yes, good. So very perfect my good boy." Gangrel purred, stroking Jason's face. "Would you like me to show you how Grel rewards a good boy?"

Jason nodded, and then chewed his lip.

"Then I will Precious, but not tonight. Your brother is coming." Gangrel pulled his fingers once more through Jason's pretty locks, letting the strands slide smoothly between his fingers. "And my good, beautiful boy, I will call you Christian."

A knock sounded, breaking the quiet moment. Jason—newly dubbed Christian—startled and cut his eyes to the locked entrance, and then back to Gangrel—only the fanged blond was no longer in front of him, but completely gone from the room. Christian moved from the bed and padded towards the door. He looked through the peephole, and sure enough just as Grel had said, there was Adam on the other side, looking disheveled. Christian unbolted the door, and Adam fell onto him, reeking of alcohol.

"Hey bro, I los' my cardkey…keycar' you know. Can I?" Adam wobbled away from Christian and towards the bed.

"Of course you can, Addy." Christian said with a small smile, and then turned back to lock up the door.

Behind him Adam groaned as he stretched out onto the bed, his eyelids drooping.

"S'what you do up here alone a'night Jay--Gay as y'said? Give your lef' hand a workout?" Adam slurred.

"No, actually, I met someone. I met a very wonderful man tonight." Christian said, climbing onto the bed and curling up next to Adam, laying his head on his brother's chest.

"Who?" Adam yawned, his eyes closing to glassy slits.

Christian smiled in the darkness, remembering the touch of the man's hand against his face, and the words that made him feel like he mattered, that he was worth something too.

"His name," Christian whispered, closing his eyes too. "Is Gangrel."


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Yes, I am still with this story, I didn't leave it to wither and die. Just to give you all a heads up, fear not if my updates for this seem to take a while. Thanks for reading and reviewing as always! A side note-I have tried to find promos and things with Grel in them in attempts to get at his persona but I have had next to no luck in doing so. So if any of you are very familiar with him...I'm sure the way I paint him is OOC. Even so, I like the Grel of this fic. Hope you all don't mind how I write him.  
**_

Weeks had passed for Christian, and thoughts of the man who had visited him that night in his hotel room seemed to haunt him. Each time his phone rang, he practically bolted for it, hoping beyond hope that this call was finally the one he'd been promised. It never was though. He tried to convince himself to be patient, and to keep thinking positively, but that last one had never been a strong trait of his. What he really thought was that the phone call was never going to come, and that maybe Gangrel didn't even exist. Maybe the entrancing, fanged-blond had been no more than a dream, and when Adam had knocked at his door, he had awoken from it.

After all, the only voice on the phone when he'd reached it time after time, was Adam. His brother called him almost daily to gush over who he was meeting and what he was doing and how cool it all was. Sometimes Adam called at odd hours of the night, waking Christian from dreams of Grel, only to slur drunkenly. Each phone call left Christian feeling emptier than before. Not only was Gangrel's promise fading, but Adam was daily rubbing his nose into it, intentional or not. Adam was the one living a life they had both dreamed of, while Christian was left behind simply longing during the day, and crying quietly against his pillow at night.

Those thoughts fogged Christian's mind. The replay of let down after let down brought him deep into a gray, depressed, funk as he chopped some vegetables against a small wood cutting board. He watched as the silvery blade of the knife moved, easily slicing, and when the blade came down against one of his fingers he was oddly amused. He laid the knife on its side and held up the damaged finger, curiously watching as the blood dripped down and onto the fine bits of onion and pepper, staining the vegetables red.

Silence seemed to hang thick in the room like an oppressive but unseen hand. The knife laid flat against the bloodied cutting board seemed strangely inviting, and the slow trickle of blood over Christian's hand was a peculiar kind of comfort. His clean hand reached for the knife, and his fingertips hesitantly touched the black grip.

A shrill ring cut through the stood-still moment, and with a gasp Christian startled. He snatched his hand away from the knife and turned, looking over his shoulder to the opposite wall. There up against the wall paper, jingling like a cursed fiend, was the conveyer of the jostling scream. For a few moments he only watched, keeping his eyes trained on the small what appliance, as it rang and rang. The blood from his slit finger dripped and dropped onto the tiles, and as he moved slowly towards the phone, some of the crimson drops smeared under his foot and left smudged little tracks. He took the phone from the cradle and turned it so the tiny green number keys were facing up, staring him down. The tone continued to repeat, and finally his bloody finger pushed the 'talk' button and he held the dyed-red phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

He had expected the typical voice to blare into his ear, accentuated by the occasional gum-snap. Instead, he heard the voice of his promise come true. When the conversation was over, he shakily hung the phone up, and just stared at it again. It seemed so surreal, but Vince had been on the phone, and he was now an employee of the WWF. Vince had told him that he'd be taken under the wing of Gangrel, who had already been wrestling for the company for months. It was really happening.

The flight seemed surreal, and the teasing, hypnotic, voice of Gangrel looped in his head until he finally slumped in the seat and slept through the last of it. Christian pushed his way through the busy airport, yawning to shake off the lingering fingers of his high-altitude nap time. His lips quirked into a slight smile when he was able to pick out a familiar face waiting for him. Adam strode over and took on of Christian's bags.

"Jay, listen to what happened to me last night!" Adam laughed. "I was out with these guys-"

Christian listened to Adam pour out more stories about his partying, new friends, wrestling, girls, guys, and anything else. By the time they arrived at a hotel and were pushing open the hotel room door, part of Christian just wanted to get away from his brother. Adam hadn't offered a hug, a back-slap, not even a word of congratulations. Every time Christian tried to get a word in, Adam spoke over him, his excitement bordering on just plain hyper. Christian had finally resolved himself to say nothing at all, and just to nod his head once in a while. He tried to tell himself that Adam was just glad to see him, glad to share all of his new interesting life and exploits with his baby brother, but behind that thin veil was a sea of let-down. He loved Adam, he really did, he just felt so small around him. Adam flung one of Christian's suitcases onto the bed and turned to him. Christian forced a smile.

"Hey Jay, what's wrong?" Finally, Adam had noticed his brother and ended abruptly his ceaseless flow of chatter.

For a moment Christian said nothing, even though his moment to say it might be short lived. He hated the fact that his excitement had been so quickly and thoroughly doused by his doubt and his nerves. Being next to Adam made him feel small and inferior in practically every way, and yet when he was apart from Adam, he felt so lonely. Adam took Christian's hand gently in his.

"Don't worry about it Jay, everything'll be fine. There's a lot of good guys around here, I'll introduce you. I know how you are, you'll be the quiet little wallflower if I let you."

"I'm already taken." Christian heard himself answering, and the image of Grel's voice swimming into his mind made him feel warm inside. Adam quirked an eyebrow.

"Jay, how can you be taken? You've only been here for about 5 minutes."

"You don't remember, you were drunk." Christian explained. "I told you the night you hired into the company. I met a man, a wonderful man. Gangrel—and don't call me Jay. My name's Christian."

Adam narrowed his eyes.

"Oh wow, Grel? The guy who claims he's a vampire? Apparently it isn't a gimmick either Jay—er…Christian. The guy's fucking weird, he really drinks blood, I think. You don't need a guy like him, and…" Adam snorted. "I wouldn't be so proud of snagging him. What a nutjob."

Christian jerked his hand away from Adam's.

"Yeah Adam, just shoot down everything in my life. Why can't you just be happy for me?"

"I told you why, the guy's a creep."

"No he isn't." Christian protested, shaking his head. "You wouldn't know, Adam. He makes me feel…special." Christian finally found the last word he was searching for, and with the speaking of it came a soft smile.

"Special Ed, maybe." Adam joked, but Christian's smile fell to a frown at that.

"I'm sorry I'm not you." Christian snapped, standing up from the bed and moving towards the window. He fingered the pull for the blinds, and tugged at it too hard, causing them to bunch and crumple to one side.

"Whoa! I was just kidding, Jay. Calm down." Adam watched as Christian mumbled under his breath and fumbled with the snagged window treatment.

"I mean it. I'm sorry I'm not you, perfect Adam who can do anything and get anything and be anything! It's easy for you, everything goes your way, and then when good things are finally happening to me all you can do is snap your fucking gum and be a smart ass."

"I snap my gum when I'm thinking." Adam replied, practicing said annoying habit. Christian turned a slight glare on him.

"That's a waste of gum, then."

"Now whose being a smart ass!"

"You deserve it. Oh, and don't call me Jay. It's Christian."

Adam rolled his eyes, but said nothing else. The two men kept their posts, and kept them silent. Adam picked at a loose thread on his jeans, and Christian played with string from the blinds, wrapping it around and around his wrist, and pulling it tight. The chord stung as it bit into his skin, and he studied it closely, transfixed as his fingertips began to tingle. The bed creaked behind him, and he heard Adam's footfalls muffled against the carpet. His brother snaked one arm around his waist, leaning close to him, their bodies pressing together, back against chest. Adam's nimble hands took Christian's wrist and unwound the nipping coil, and then rubbed gently at the red, snake-like marking left behind.

"Jay—Christian, I'm sorry. You know you're my brother, you know I love you."

"I know." Christian said quietly, shivering at the light touches against the stinging skin. "I…I suppose."

"What do you mean by that?" Adam asked, stopping the soothing and simultaneously exciting motions.

"Nothing."

What he meant was that what Adam said was not always what he meant. Sometimes Adam just said things to placate his younger, mediocre brother. It was a must, because there wasn't time to really listen to him, because Adam had much better things to do.

"Just go Adam. It's no big deal." Christian waved his hand dismissively. With a suffering sigh Adam stalked to the door.

"Don't ask me for any favors!" He snarled, turning to jab his finger and Christian. Christian sneered back at him.

"I wouldn't dare ever thinking of asking you for anything, selfish bastard!"

Adam slammed the door, leaving Christian alone in the dimly lit room. The younger blonde hugged his arms around himself, sadness seeping in and filling the spaces in him that had been excited on the plane ride. His balloon ride of fantasy, into that perfect world that he'd thought he'd finally stepped into, had quickly deflated leaving him in the murk and mire of what was grim reality. What if Adam was right about Grel? Right now, that blond enigma was the only thing that gave him some hope, the thought of the strong arms around him, comfort. Adam was already doing well in the business in his short time here, but he was Adam. He was simply by being himself bound to do well. Christian walked towards the bed, his feet dragging against the carpet. He sat next to his suitcase and trailed his finger over the cold zipper, wondering if he hadn't made a mistake by coming here. Maybe it was all just a dream, anyway. It had seemed too good to be true, and now the dream had turned to something less fantastic, and any moment he'd wake up to find himself at home in his bed with the silence in the house, and the phone that had never rang to summon him to some new fate. He lay back onto the bed, on his side, and closed his eyes, watching the soft colors that played behind the lids. After a few moments, he slowly opened them, but was greeted only with a chill wisp of air.

With a sigh that echoed the emptiness he felt, Christian rolled over, and then his breath was taken away. Standing in the doorway was Gangrel, his eyes hidden but decidedly glimmering beneath his dark sunglasses. He said nothing, his only command the curl of his finger. As if the gesture drew him in, Christian came to him and knelt at his feet, bowing his head and offering the fullest respect. Just like last time, how he knew to do so perfectly he didn't know, or even how he knew to do it at all. It just seemed natural, as if an unseen force had sculpted him into the perfect picture of meekness.

"I said it, and it became so." Gangrel said, his voice like a purr inside Christian's ears. "Here you are, Christian. Here you are ready to greet your destiny. Rise up."

He got to his feet as he was told, and slowly took in every detail of the man before him. The soft leather pants outlined his legs, and the billowy white shirt coupled with it made him seem like some sort of dark angel. His moonlight hued hair fell in curls and swirls over his shoulders and around his face, and his lips parted slightly to reveal teeth that glittered like stars. He was completely entrancing, and made Christian's knees feel weak.

"Do you remember?" Grel asked, seeming to move a step closer to Christian without moving at all. The space between them was sparse, their noses nearly touching, the whisper of Grel's words tingling warmly against Christian's lips. "I said to you, Christian my dear one, that a good boy is the recipient of my unique affections. If I recall, I was going to see fit to reward you, my fine boy."

Grel's hand brushed over Christian's throat, the long nails barely tracing over the skin, before making their way down the cotton of his t-shirt, over a rounded pec and taut nipple beneath, and then to his side and down over the bumps of ribs to finally rest at a thin hip. Christian shivered, a soft mew sighing from his lips. The touch sent tiny electrical tingles through his body, and stood up the ticklish hairs at the back of his neck. Grel's smile stretched wider, obviously pleased with the reaction. Christian watched every slight movement of his face, and found himself blissfully trapped in the dark, winking lenses of Gangrels sunglasses, his own face mirrored darkly back at him on the curved twin surfaces. Grel's other hand found Christian's wrist, the one he'd twined up with the chord from the blinds just earlier. Grel's fingers wrapped around the wrist, covering the angry red lines still etched into the skin, and they seemed to re-awaken and burn with a new vengeance, as though the chord was still wrapped tight and cutting into the flesh. Christian's eyes lulled closed and he moaned out at the sensation.

"Oh lovely, my boy." Gangrel purred, his lips pulling back from his teeth so they could nip at Christian's mouth. "Like the song of an angel, like the dance of the wind."

Christian could have melted at all of it. Never had anyone swept him away so completely. Never had anyone said such wonderful things about him, or made him feel so good, and in any other situation he would have felt undeserving of all of it. Gangrel, with the sweep of his hand, washed the doubt away and freed him into a person who was not flawed, just unique from all of the others.

Grel's hands moved carefully over his body, gently removing clothing, undoing buttons with his teeth and never rushing. He swept his hand beneath his billowy white tunic and from a pocket on his smooth leather pants revealed a sturdy chord. Christian's eyes caught it and a sparkle danced in the blue depths, a tiny gasp escaping him. A smile curved Grel's lips at the reaction, not one of depravity at finding a willing participant, but one of satisfaction. It was with everything else, Gangrel already knew things about Christian, it seemed, that he barely even knew about himself. There was no questioning it, why would he want to? He just closed his eyes and enjoyed Grel's hands taking his wrists in them and binding them with the chord. It was just tight enough to nip at the skin. It wasn't the tight, nearly unbearable gnaw, like the blind chord he'd wrapped around himself earlier. It was better this way, Christian thought, as his arms were tied up behind his back, and he was flipped to his belly.

The moments together seemed sluggish, as though the whole scene was occurring through a wad of cotton or a haze of alcohol. The gentle caress of Grel's hands and fingers, lips and tongue, against Christian's shoulders and back were a wonderful contrast to the ache gradually building there from the position of the bondage, and the ties that bit at his wrists when he shivered and wiggled in need from the delicate touches. His breathes were changing with his arousal, which was trapped beneath him and hardening against the sheets. His skin was slicking with a sheen of sweet as Grel continued the beautiful torture of his body. There was no frantic slapping of skin on skin, no maniac rocking of the bed, just Grel concentrating on bringing Christian the kind of pleasure that many desired but were too afraid to seek out, and likewise, the kind of pleasure many were too afraid of or were too sadistic to give properly.

When it was done Christian lay gasping into the sheets, stickiness warming his belly and thighs. Grel loosed his wrists and massaged the trembling muscles, admiring the various pinkened marks against the soft skin, before rolling Christian to his back. Gangrel wiped away the pearly splashes of release that coated Christian's stomach with the bottom of his shirt. Christian could only watch him with eyes that could barely believe the man attending to him was real. They were eyes that were rimmed with tears.

"So beautiful when you came for me." Grel purred, as he finished cleaning his pet. "Did you enjoy coming for me, Christian?"

"Yes Sir."

"I know you did, Angel. I will make sure you enjoy it every time, for as long as you wish to remain my good boy." Gangrel smiled, the expression not manipulative, hurtful, or even lustful. It was an easy, caring smile, accompanied by Grel's fingers lazily playing through Christian's long golden hair. It was as if Gangrel admired him, held him dear, as if he was some rare treasure. The tears pricked at Christian's eyes again, but did not fall.

Grel didn't leave soon after, as Christian was accustomed to his lovers doing. He stayed and they talked, the words consisting mostly of Grel doting over his boy, as Christian could find few words to respond with—the things Grel said to him and about him still seemed unreal to him. He curled closer to Grel, into his chest, closing his eyes against the warmth of the body next to his and Grel's arms held him there. The words eventually moved on to wrestling, as that was what Vince had hired Christian to do. Gangrel spoke about Christian's debut, and storylines, and training. Without ever having seen Christian wrestle a match before, he assured him that he was going to do well for himself, that he did not know the depths of his own strength. Christian just listened to the voice pouring over him, enjoying every subtle thing about it—the pitch, the tone, how each word and letter was said, it was all perfect and nearly hypnotizing and soon his eyes were drooping, and he was being lulled into sleep, with a tranquil smile curling the corners of his lips. They might have been the arms of a stranger, but Christian had never felt more at home.


End file.
